Details that stand out when you tell your trauma.
Darkness and silence!
1983-1984.
My mother was sick with leukemia. She was hospitalized on and off for a long time. Our parents got divorced in 1981-1982. My mother gained custody of the three of us so her children would be together.
When she was at the hospital, the three of us were sent to live with our uncle and his family. Sometimes we ended up staying alone at our apartment without adults caring for us. As the oldest sister, at 12 years old, I found myself replaced by my mother to care for my two little siblings.
At night, Ba Minh, my mother's friend, would send his teenage sons, either the first one or the second one to sleep overnight at my apartment to look after the three small kids.
One night I woke up in the middle of the dark knight.
I found out that the second son, who was 15-16 years old at that time, put his finger inside of me. He sexually molested me while I slept next to my brother and sister. I was shocked and panicked. I kicked my legs so hard to stop him. The boy did stop and got out of the room.
I was so scared. I could not sleep that night. I was 12 years old. In the morning, I found myself still shaking. I held my brother and sister so tight and sat on our bed waiting for him to leave the house.
Later that morning, Ba Minh came over to see how we were doing. I sat next to him, and put my head down. I felt embarrassed. I felt confused. He sensed something. He was quiet. He was patient.
Somehow, I knew the word in Vietnamese to describe that to him.
“He molested me last night. Please do not send him over.”
I was so scared and ashamed. I remembered I did not cry. I remember that I could not look up when I talked to him.
Ba Minh did not say a word. I heard a long sigh.
He never sent that second son to our apartment again.
The night after that horrible night, the first son came. He knocked on the door.
I asked my brother and sister to stay quiet and pretend that we were all sleeping so I did not have to open the door. I remember both had puzzled looks on their faces.
They listened to their sister. We tipped toed back to the bed, turned off all the lights, and stayed quiet until the first son left.
Ba Minh did not say a word.
Ever.
I did not know if he said anything to the second son. Or to my mother. We never talked about it.
I kept this story a secret. I pretended that never happened. Sometimes I thought I would forget about it. But I never would. I told my husband once after we had been married for 10 years. I felt that I trusted him enough to share with him. I did not tell my mother. Not a word to my sister and brother.
I would never want to remember what happened. I cry here and there myself.
When I thought that the teenage boy who was sent to protect me at nighttime turned out to be a predator, I got stuck right there. I could not fathom furthermore. I know this was not my fault that I got molested. But then whose? No one would give me any answer. I did not tell anyone except Ba Minh. He did not say anything. Darkness and silence.
I started practicing meditation in 2014 in an attempt to heal my inner 12-year-old child. I read one of Thinh Nhat Hanh’s Zen books and found out that mediation could heal your inner childhood trauma.
Many times, during the meditation, I reached out within myself to talk to my 12-year-old self, “No big deal. He was a 15- 16 years teenager. He would not know better.”
“Châu, you have to smile and hug your 12-year-old self so you will let go, feel better, and heal.”
I did feel better after the meditation.
Sometimes the wound came back unpredictably. It hurts me here and there. It causes me to cry here and there. It stays hidden and quiet most of the time. I am getting used to the thought that that childhood wound will never go away as it has become a part of me for such a long time. It does not do much harm if I keep ignoring it. I hope there is some time, magically it will disappear on its own.
Perception is changing over time especially when I became a mother and auntie. I have one daughter. My sister has two daughters. My brother has one daughter.
When my own daughter and three little nieces reached their teenage years, I found myself having more anxiety and I could not explain why.
Darkness and silence.
Stuck!
No comments:
Post a Comment